


A Bad Idea

by phantisma



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-08
Updated: 2007-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When unspoken tension between Hotch and Morgan ratchets up a notch following a bad day, they try to work their way around it...but it's a really bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Idea

It had all been a really bad idea.

Hotch had not been in a good head space after fighting with his wife and his boss and the case had been ugly, and he should have said no. He should have walked away.

But of all his team, it had to be the one who never came to him with a problem. The one who always had it together. So when Morgan popped his head in and asked if he had a minute, Hotch had nodded, setting aside his own problems.

It had been a really bad idea.

Morgan hadn’t really wanted to talk. He was restless, agitated. Wouldn’t sit down. “You wanna…go get a drink?” he asked finally, his hands landing on his hips as he sort of turned and looked at Hotch.

He should have said no. He should have gone home to his family.

Instead, he’d nodded and grabbed his jacket and they’d gone to a small bar a few blocks from Morgan’s apartment. He should have known better. He didn’t want to talk anymore than Morgan did.

Not that he could have voiced what he did want.

No. Not Aaron Hotchner. Because what he did want was unspeakable. What he wanted from Derek Morgan was unconscionable. So they sat at the bar and they didn’t talk. They drank beer after beer and didn’t talk.

At one point he left Morgan sitting there and went to relieve himself. When he came back he found Morgan flirting with some young blond thing. It was illogical how much it irritated him. He moved back to the bar and tossed off the last of his beer, making a face at the bitter taste.

“Hey, this is Heidi.” Morgan said over the low throbbing sound of the music. “She’s a chemist.”

“Very nice to meet you Heidi.” Hotch said, though his tone wasn’t exactly friendly. “I’m gonna go. My family’s waiting.”

Morgan’s hand touched his arm. It said things that Morgan hadn’t yet. _Don’t._ and _Please._ They both looked at his hand on Hotch’s arm, then at one another. “One more.” Morgan said. He signaled the bar tender as if he knew Hotch would give in.

Hotch was held in place, held by that hand. On his arm. Not moving. Morgan had delicate hands. Pretty even. Long slender fingers. Hotch stared at the soft brown of his skin, the perfect shape of his nails. His vision swam until that was all he could see….until that was all that there was. Morgan’s hand on his arm. Morgan’s voice, not talking to him, laughing with Heidi who was leaning across the bar, flashing her breasts at the bartender, laughing as he brought their beer, splashing her.

Everything changed with her there. Eased up. Faded into…into two coworkers out for a drink. Broke the unspeakable tension. She made Morgan smile. She made Morgan laugh, but it was Hotch Morgan held on to. It was Hotch he looked at, his eyes filled with…well, he wasn’t sure.

“Drink your beer.” Morgan said, leaning in close, putting a glass in his free hand. “Drink your beer and I’ll get us a cab.”

Hotch looked at the beer, looked at Morgan. Something wasn’t right. He was far more buzzed than he should be after a few beers. Buzzed and uncomfortable and angry. He pulled his arm free, the skin burning as Morgan’s hand slid off, dropping to his lap. “Not my father.” Hotch said irritably, throwing back half the beer and turning to the bar.

And that should have been another clue he should go. Just leave. Walk away from whatever this was. But he came with Morgan and he’d be damned if he was going to let Morgan leave with Heidi, the chemist.

None of that made any sense. He was just Morgan. Morgan. He would never be anything else. Hotch couldn’t ever let it be anything else. Co-workers was all they could be. And of course, Morgan could take Heidi home. Of course he could undress her and fuck her until they’d both be sore in the morning. Hotch had no say. None.

He tossed off the last of his beer. Slammed the glass down.

“Whoa, there.” Morgan said, his hand on Hotch’s back now. “Easy Boss man.”

White hot anger flowed through him, from the heated spot where Morgan touched him, leeching into his veins, flushing his face. He could hear himself growling, saw Morgan chuckle. “Don’t.”

He didn’t know what he meant, what Morgan should do…or shouldn’t do. He turned, and the bar tilted. Morgan kept him from falling. “You okay, Hotch?”

Hotch grabbed for him, caught his hand onto Morgan’s shoulder. He shook his head. There was no way he should be this fucked up. He shook his head again. It only got worse. “Where’d she go?”

Heidi was gone.

“Who?”

“The chemist.” It felt like work to pull the words out of his brain.

“Left. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Morgan reached for the shot sitting on the bar and tipped it back, swallowing. Hotch watched his throat, leaned forward. He stopped himself before he did anything else, before he pressed his lips against that long neck...because no matter what else was different, he was still Morgan’s boss.

Morgan handled him, steering him around patrons and out into the dark…toward a cab. The night air seemed to make his disorientation worse. He couldn’t focus, and his stomach seemed to seethe with rage…displaced and disconnected…

The ride was short, and the world was spinning when Morgan tugged on his arm. “Come on.” Morgan paid the driver and reached out a hand to help Hotch from the car, but Hotch slapped at it and pushed him away.

“Just trying to help, man.”

Hotch stumbled a little and inhaled deeply. “Something’s wrong.” His words slurred and he caught himself on Morgan’s shoulder before he went down.

“I’ll say, I never knew you were such a light weight.” Morgan said. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I should—“ He stopped because he had no idea what he should be doing.

“Relax, I already called Haley and told her we were working tonight.”

There were stairs and doors and navigating around furniture, before Morgan pushed him to a seat on the couch. “I’ll get some aspirin.”

Hotch fumbled with his tie, but his fingers wouldn’t work. He could barely keep his eyes open. Morgan was back, putting two pills in his hand and holding out a glass of water. “Take these.”

“Not my father.” Hotch said again, his voice petulant and bitter.

“Maybe you need one.” Morgan said. “Take the aspirin Hotch, your head will thank me.”

Hotch felt it boil up, acid and tart. He smacked the hand away. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Morgan backed off a step, water spilling over his shirt. “Hey. Settle down. I’m just trying to help.”

Hotch lurched to his feet, his head reeling. He was suffocating under the tie, like it was keeping the heat inside…the heat that filled him with fury…fury that made no sense. “Morgan…” Hotch shook his head, stumbling a little. “Sick.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Morgan set the glass aside and tried to steer him toward the bathroom.

Hotch dropped to his knees and heaved, but nothing came. His face burned against the cool of the porcelain. There had to have been something in his drink, something…wrong…and it was all Morgan’s fault….this whole thing…the unspoken need…the discomfort…the drinks…Hotch looked up.

Morgan was standing there, standing over him, his shirt off, looking down at him. It was too much like looking up at his father…too much like waiting for the next blow. He didn’t wait anymore. He didn’t have to.

Hotch pushed up, catching himself on the edge of the sink, which pushed him up into Morgan’s personal space. He smelled like…like expensive aftershave…good…warm…Hotch sniffed and Morgan froze, one hand on his arm.

“Hotch?”

He closed his eyes, couldn’t trust them anyway…He was moving closer, vaguely aware that he was touching Morgan’s face…kissing over his whiskered jaw…pushing Morgan into the sink. As his lips found Morgan’s there was a moment of clarity, a moment when he pulled back, only to find Morgan’s hand at the back of his head, pulling him closer…Morgan’s lips parting…Morgan melting against the heat that was boiling up and out and over his skin….need…anger…arousal.

His hands had Morgan’s head, his thumbs pressing against his cheeks. He pulled back, looking at him, wondering why…how…then gave up…the pull of the heat was stronger and Morgan’s hands were pulling at his tie, unbuttoning his shirt…and they were moving, the hallway wall suddenly at his back, Morgan’s knee between his legs.

Hotch pushed, rolled and they crashed into the opposite wall, Morgan’s breath filling his mouth as his back slammed into it…door jamb, then dresser…and there would be bruises on both of them from the battering as they lost bits of clothing along the way, until they were there, by the bed, panting and nearly naked and something in Morgan’s smile brought the rage bubbling back up…He wanted to knock that smile off his face…wanted to show him what happened to little boys who played games with their father…

Some part of him knew it wasn’t right…knew he should back off, that he wasn’t thinking clearly…drunk…drugged….not himself, not right….and while he argued with himself, his body moved…shoved…pushed…and Morgan yelled…Hotch sank into him…joined fires…Morgan’s desire, Hotch’s anger…melting into this…and fuck…just fuck…Morgan shifted, pushing back…sweat dripped…Hotch felt his hand on the back of Morgan’s neck…bruising, crushing….grunting, rutting…coming….spinning, falling….Morgan’s voice…and dark…swallowed up in the dark.

 

The smell of coffee was nauseating, but it pulled him from a dark swirl of strange dreams into a reality that took a few moments to arrange into focus. His body announced aches and pains from every corner as he carefully opened one eye. He was not in his own bed.

He was naked under a sheet. Naked and hard. Incredibly hard. Painfully hard.

The bed dipped and he half turned, his eyes closing as he spotted Morgan. “Hey…you okay?”

Hotch covered his head with a pillow. This was not okay. He was not okay. “No. I don’t think I am.”

There was amusement in Morgan’s voice. “There’s aspirin on the nightstand, but after the dosing you got, it probably won’t be enough.”

Hotch pulled the pillow off his face and looked at him. “Dosing?”

Morgan nodded. “The guy who manages that bar is a friend, he called to see if I could do anything to help. Not sure what all was in it, but at least five other patrons were hit at the bar last night.” Morgan’s hand brushed down Hotch’s arm. “There is one common denominator in all the cocktails though. Viagra.”

Hotch groaned. He rolled away from Morgan, one hand cupping to his painful erection. “You gonna let me take care of that?” Morgan asked and Hotch stiffened considerably.

“What?” He looked back quickly. “I—what?”

Morgan grinned and reached for him. “Relax.” His hand slipped under the sheet, moved to his cock and closed around it. “After everything last night, it’s the least I can do.”

“Everything? Last night? Ahhh….stop…god…Morgan…”

Morgan leaned down close, kissing Hotch, catching him by surprise. “After fucking six ways to Sunday I think you can call me Derek.” As he pulled away Hotch noticed the bruising under his left eye, and more on his jaw.

He tried to roll away, but Morgan twisted his hand around him as his tongue flicked out over Hotch’s chin and jaw. Hotch came with a yell and Morgan sat back with a smirk. “You don’t remember do you?”

“Did I do that?” Hotch asked after he’d recovered his ability to breath, if not his dignity, pointing at the bruising.

Morgan nodded, the grin dimming a little. “For starters.” He turned so Hotch could see his back. Scratches covered both sides of his spine and there were finger shaped bruises just over the line of his pants.

Hotch breathed out and tried to think around it. Everything past the second beer was blurry. “God, Morgan. I am…so sorry.”

Morgan’s grin was devious as he turned back around to look down at him. “Don’t be. You’ve got your own marks to hide.” He shook his head. “It got rough, but it wasn’t bad. I’m just sorry I didn’t realize you were more than drunk. I feel I took advantage.”

Hotch moved to sit up and discovered his hips ached in a way he’d never experienced. This was beyond embarrassing. He wasn’t sure what to do, where they went from here.

Morgan seemed to understand. He stood up and moved away from the bed. “Shower’s through that door there.” He pointed. “I called Haley last night and told her we were working. I’ve got breakfast cooking if you think you can stand it. Your clothes are on the dresser.”

Hotch tried to follow him, his head swimming. “How long have you been up?”

Morgan grinned again. “Couple hours. It’s almost 11.”

Hotch groaned. “Eleven?” Haley was going to kill him. He pulled himself out of the bed. His ass was raw and burning…apparently he’d received as well as given. The shower was hot and hard and quick, though he had the urge to never leave it, never face Morgan…or anyone else ever again. He remembered flashes of the night before…remembered anger and arousal…remembered his father’s voice calling him names…remembered why it was Morgan…and he knew he had to make sure it never happened again.

Once he was dressed, his tie tight, his jacket blanketing him, Hotch felt more in control. He found Morgan in the kitchen. “Coffee?”

Hotch made a face and shook his head. “No. Thank you.” He rubbed his hands together. “Morgan. I—“

Morgan held up his hand. “I know what you’re going to say Hotch. Don’t worry.”

“You do?”

Morgan nodded and flipped a pancake out of the pan and onto a plate, handing it to Hotch. “We can’t do this. You’re not gay. You’re my boss. You’re married. It was the drugs. I’m a great guy, but…don’t worry about it.”

“Morgan.” It was all those things…and it was more and Hotch just had no words for what it was. He put the plate on the counter and turned to Morgan. “I was…I was going to say we need a story for how we both got bruised up.” It was an easy lie. “Preferably not to do with…fucking.” He offered a tentative smile.

Morgan saw through him, but smiled too. “Yeah. Okay. At least I kept yours where you could hide them.” His finger pressed against his jaw.

Hotch raised a finger to trace over the bruise. He winced a little. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan was suddenly serious, suddenly closing the gap between them, his hand on Hotch’s face…his lips on Hotch’s mouth, his tongue sliding easily into his mouth. “You will be,” he whispered. “I mean what I say. It’s okay. No promises, no strings. No emotional baggage. No one needs to know. We can hide it, forget it and go back to being…”

“Coworkers.” Hotch finished. Morgan nodded and stepped back, turned away. Hotch licked his lips and reached for the plate, only to stop and reach into his pocket as his phone started to ring. “It’s JJ.”

He walked away while JJ told him about a missing girl in Toledo. He could taste Morgan on his lips…warm, like caramel and coffee. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call everyone in.” He hung up the phone and slipped it in his pocket. Morgan looked up and something inside Hotch let go. It was frightening and exhilarating…like opening up the closet door and finding that Christmas had come while you were hiding.

It was a really bad idea…but he crossed the kitchen, put his hands on Morgan’s—Derek’s hips and he pulled him tight against him. It took a moment to find the nerve to finish the gesture, to willingly close that gap, press his lips to Derek’s…taste him…close his eyes and savor the feeling as Derek relaxed and his hands rose up Hotch’s back.

“If…you should call me Aaron.” His eyes opened and met Derek’s. “If we’re going to…and…”

Morgan grinned and he kissed his nose. “Eat your breakfast _Aaron_.”

“Can’t. Missing girl. Have to get in to the office.”

“You’re in no shape to work.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll take a cab back to my car.” He fussed a little with his tie…suddenly unsure, suddenly tense.

Morgan’s hand went unerringly to a bruise on his hip, pressing in lightly. “I’ll meet you at the office then.”

 

 

It was a bad idea.

The whole thing was a bad idea. He’d been violent, out of control. Yet, as he watched Morgan weaving the tale of how he’d gotten the black eye and bruised jaw, feeling Morgan’s eyes dart his way, Aaron Hotchner felt his pants tighten, his face flush…and no matter how much he thought it was a really bad idea, some part of him was thinking about how to get Morgan alone in Toledo.


End file.
